


The Archivist

by SennyriNamis23



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:54:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8990005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennyriNamis23/pseuds/SennyriNamis23
Summary: Archivist Delia Rhystra managed to avoid the destruction of Scarif, but all of her work went up in flames with the base. Now an angry archivist with a quickly waning faith in the Empire, she decides to defect.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As a librarian myself, I nearly cried at the end of Rogue One for the destruction of the Scarif base not because all the people died (although I cried because of that too) but because the Empire just destroyed their complete archives. Of everything. Who even does that!? I figure I'm not the only one with feelings about this, so I wrote a fic about it. Only marginally related to Rogue One, but I figure putting that in the tags works as a spoiler alert that Scarif is demolished by the Death Star.

“They did _what_!?” She demanded to no one in particular, throwing the datapad across the room and pulling her hair in frustration. She was alone in her quarters on the retreat house on Naboo, getting her things ready to return to Scarif.

Well, she supposed she would probably be relocated after this.

She pulled her holocomm out and immediately dialed the Imperial Secretary of Archival Material, a terribly boring and infuriating man named Gorg Nambit.

He didn’t even look at her when he answered her call, “Delia, just settle down.”

“I will _not_ just settle down!” She yelled in frustration, “I need to know what the bloody hell happened that the entire archives on Scarif were destroyed!”

“The Death Star happened,” Gorg replied flatly.

She paced the room restlessly, “What do you fucking mean, ‘the Death Star happened’!? Do you have any idea how much information was stored on that base!?”

His eyes flickered to her and back to his datapad, “Delia, darling, language please. I will send you my official report and statement when I’ve finished it. And you calling me to shout at me for something I did not do is not helping that process.”

She blew hard out of her nose, muttering, “Typical.”

“And it is just as typical for you to lose your temper,” he replied evenly, “You need to keep your head on straight, Miss Rhystra, or you may lose it.”

She straightened immediately and stopped in her tracks, “Are you threatening me, Gorg?”

He shrugged, “Do you need me to?”

Delia narrowed her eyes but folded her hands behind her back obediently, “No, sir. I will wait for your report.”

“Good. Stay on Naboo for a few extra days of leave. You will be notified of your relocation in the coming standard week.”

She sighed, “Yes, sir.”

He nodded and disappeared from sight. She let out a raging yell and flew her fist into the wall, hearing the plaster crack and feeling her knuckles buckle.

“This goddamn bureaucracy is going to kill us all!”

\---

_Report - Scarif Attacks and Imperial Response_

_You all know by now, thanks to the excellent service of the Imperial News Network, that the archival base on Scarif was destroyed in a battle against the so-called “Rebel Alliance”. The decision was made to sacrifice the base for the greater good of the Empire and to strike fear into the hearts of those who would create unrest in the galaxy. Thanks to the work of Admiral Tarkin and the new technology of the Death Star, such a message was clearly sent in the destruction of the facilities on Scarif. The Empire will continue to work tirelessly for peace, as it always has._

_Those of you who were stationed on Scarif but were on leave at the time of its destruction will be relocated to the Imperial Station orbiting Alderaan._

_Thank you for your patience._

\---

Delia wanted to shove the datapad down her throat. She had worked for nearly two decades in the archives on Scarif. She had tirelessly created a system to best preserve the historical, technical, economic, political, cultural, and military information of the Empire. She had organized and re-organized the information categories, created thousands of filters for billions of records, and ensured their safe keeping. Her specialty was the Historical Archives, curating and cultivating collections of information on the Galactic Republic, the Jedi and Sith, and other historical organizations and cultures. It was her job to keep the information protected, out of the hands of people who would misuse it and slander the Empire. It was also her job to be able to pull information for the Emperor or Lord Vader or another high ranking member of the Empire at a moment’s notice.

She was damn good at her job.

And they had just destroyed the whole fucking base as if it had no importance whatsoever.

Those goddamn bastards had no idea what sort of fresh hell they were unleashing on themselves. They had no idea how many setbacks that would create on the completion of their beloved Death Star. They had no idea how fucked the Empire was without the only complete set of Archives in the entire galaxy. Sure, there were auxiliary stations scattered around, but only Scarif had complete records of everything, and most of those records were only found on Scarif. Including the plans for the Death Star. Which were now destroyed. Lost forever.

Her heart ached to think of how much history was lost.

Her temper flared to think of how stupid the Empire was to make that decision. They didn’t even see her work as important. Not in the least! The entire fucking archives were expendable if it meant they could blow something up! She was livid when she heard about the destruction of Jedha, but now she was beyond that. She was angry beyond anything she had ever felt before. It was one thing to destroy a historical and cultural site because the residents weren’t playing nice. It was entirely another to sacrifice all of the information known in the fucking galaxy to kill, _what forty!?_ , rebels! On a loyal Imperial base!

The fucking idiots.

Delia had little love for the Empire as it was. She loved to learn, and she rather liked living and getting paid so she had sucked it up and signed on. But now, now she _hated_ them. She hated them and she was done. Gorg had finally started blocking her calls anyway.

So she rebelled. And she defected.

\---

“No, no, no, don’t shoot, don’t shoot, I surrender!”

The blasters aimed at her didn’t budge but even as she cringed, she felt no pain and heard no shot at her. Instead, one of the Rebel troopers - she couldn’t tell which one - spoke to her with a gruff and guarded voice.

“State your purpose, Officer.”

“I- I- I’m defecting from the Empire,” she stuttered, fumbling over the words she’d rehearsed for hours before this point, “I want to help the Rebellion.”

“You think we’re just gonna believe that?”

Her arms started to ache from holding them up for so long, but she didn’t dare move a muscle, “I w-was sort of hoping you would.”

To her surprise, one of the Rebels put down his blaster and motioned for the others to do the same, “Alright. I’ll let you explain yourself to the Captain. But don’t make any sudden moves. You make a move for us and I’ll kill you.”

She nodded a little and swallowed hard, desperately forcing her nerves back down her throat. She hadn’t come this far through so many Imperial blockades and traps just to be killed by a trigger happy Rebel.

The Rebel who addressed her pulled her arms down and tied her hands together behind her back - she couldn’t blame him for being cautious. The whole guard of Rebels surrounded her and escorted her down the long hallway through the Main Base of the Alliance on Yavin IV.

She hadn’t expected a grand audience or anything, but she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt when they shoved her into an interrogation room.

A few minutes later, a tall and sullen man came through the door and sat across from her, his eyes red and bloodshot.

“I’m Captain Pierce,” he said, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, “Please state your name and rank with the Imperial Army.”

She drew a shaky breath, “My name is Delia Rhystra, and I am - _was_ \- Head of the Historical Archives on Scarif.”

“Scarif?” He said, clearly shaken by the name of the planet, but still guarded and stiff.

She nodded and looked down at the table, “I was on leave off-planet when the base was destroyed.” She’d read the reports of what had happened. It was those reports that had sent her over the edge and willing to commit treason, after all. She knew no one on that facility had survived the attack of the Death Star. It raised all sorts of red flags to anyone to hear she was stationed there and still walked among the living.

He nodded, making a noncommittal “Mmm” in response, noting something on the datapad in front of him.

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of them, and Delia started to fidget in her chair, but the Captain sat stoically, his face withdrawn as if he was reliving the entire battle.

She didn’t want to rush him, but she couldn’t sit still. She was nervous, she was captive, and she was tied to a fucking table.

“Captain?” She finally whispered, shaking him from whatever images were going through his head.

“Sorry,” he replied, shaking his head, “Why do you want to join the Rebel Alliance?”

“Because I’m angry,” she admitted, “The Empire destroyed their own archives, their only complete archives, for the sake of sending you a message. If their priorities are clearly not with preserving the history and knowledge of the galaxy, how am I supposed to believe that they truly want to preserve the galaxy itself?”

The Captain chuckled and rested back in his chair, “That’s a new one. How do you suppose you can help us, Archivist?”

Delia grinned, “I’ve held the entire knowledge of the galaxy in my hands. I know the inner workings of the Empire, their propaganda, their fears and aspirations. I know how to hit them where it hurts the most.”

After a moment, Captain Pierce nodded approvingly, “You’re feisty. I think the General will appreciate that. Very well, you may join us. You’ll be on probation for the first six standard months, of course, and won’t be allowed in anything more than general meetings, but welcome aboard, Archivist.”

Delia smiled genuinely for the first time in months. She could get back to work.


End file.
